Dawn Of The Federation Book I : Tomorrow Never KnowsChapter 4: Double Date free porn video
Trip waited politely for the door chime to be answered and entered Malcolm's quarters in response to the call from within.
"Hey Malcolm, do you have a minute?"
"Sure," the Brit answered, waving Trip to take a seat before glancing at him slyly. "I've heard your cabin has grown considerably in size."
"Yeah, I almost passed out when we came home from that short shore leave," he answered with a chuckle.
Malcolm opened a nondescript drawer and took out a bottle, holding it in Trip's direction as an unspoken offer.
"The ship's most law-abidin' officer has a secret stash of beer?" The question was accompanied by a grin.
"We obviously all have our dark secrets, Commander," Malcolm replied dryly as Trip took the proffered object.
"Thanks, buddy."
"So, what happened to 'I should never have gotten involved with her'?"
"Well, she finally gave up her reluctance to admit the obvious, that's what happened."
"Obviously," came Malcolm's dry reply. "I think that, except for the two of you, pretty much everyone knew that one day you'd end up sharing the same address. The fact that even I noticed it should tell you something."
"Tell me about it," Trip said with a chuckle.
"The Captain seems remarkably laid back about it, if I may say so."
"Yeah, good on him. Actually, that's why I'm here, Malcolm. I think I know whom you'd like to 'share an address' with." Trip took a swig and regarded Malcolm with a mischievous grin.
"You do?" The Brit's attempt at appearing both surprised and flippant was not too convincing, and Trip knew he'd hit a bulls-eye. Normally Malcolm was excellent at hiding what was going on in his mind. He'd been caught off guard, and wasn't nearly as indifferent as he probably wanted to seem.
"Look, even T'Pol sees that you and Hoshi have it bad for each other. In fact, at this very minute she and Hoshi are havin' a little girl talk."
"You know that it isn't possible," Malcolm answered, turning away. His sadness was poorly hidden. "You and T'Pol have the same rank. The Captain would never be so benevolent about it if I started dating a subordinate."
"He will, buddy. Jon didn't make any announcement, because he doesn't want his ship to turn into a high school, but Forrest gave him permission to exempt people from the no-frat rules, as long as it doesn't impact job performance. If anyone on this ship could separate duty and private time as good as T'Pol, it'd be you."
Malcolm slid a dubious glance at him. "So you honestly believe that Captain Archer would allow a lieutenant to date an ensign?" He could hardly have sounded more disbelieving if Trip had claimed that Earth was flat.
"Hell, he'd allow you to date Porthos as long as you do your job on the bridge." Both men shared a laugh about that, even as Reed thanked him wryly for the mental image the words had conjured up.
"You're welcome," Trip quipped and they clinked the bottles together before a taking swig of their beer.
He'd expected the Brit to be delighted, and was surprised by the lack of response. He waited to see what would be forthcoming. Maybe he shouldn't be so surprised after all, he reflected; Malcolm was a tactical officer, and trained to look for pitfalls. And if ever there was a pitfall going, Malcolm Reed was the man to find it.
"I like the news," the lieutenant sighed at last with a far-away look. "And I'll think about it."
"Think about it?" Trip asked with a mock-incredulous look that soon turned into a grin. "You've had it bad for Hoshi for, what? Two years now – and you need to think about it?"
"Actually three," Malcolm admitted shyly. It was uncharacteristic for him to be so open, and he glanced a little uneasily at his companion, as though wondering whether it was wise to admit to so much. "Ever since we barbecued the Klingons on that deuterium mining colony. I can even tell you the moment my eyes were opened: when she took the rifle off me and took over the training class. A gorgeous girl who's good with weapons, who can resist that?"
"You should see T'Pol wielding a staff, hm... ," Trip added as both broke into laughter again.
"Actually, Mal," he continued more seriously, "I already expected you to start broodin' over it, probably for weeks. That's why we decided to make next movie-night into a double-date. T'Pol's proposin' the same to Hoshi and you know what her answer will be."
"She'll probably refuse me flat out. Or squeal like a schoolgirl – 'ooh, T'Pol, I'd like that'," Malcolm quipped in a not very convincing imitation of Hoshi's voice, and the two friends shared a chuckle and another swig of beer. It was good to see that the Brit was at least willing to entertain the idea, even if his customary lack of self-confidence in his own attractions was still fighting manfully. He was looking distinctly thoughtful, if not exactly hopeful.
"Did you know that T'Pol and Hoshi have been havin' some sort of girl chats ever since we ran into that Romulan mine?" Trip asked.
"Now there's a surprise. How did that come about?"
"Actually, I think I might have had something to do with it. A few weeks before that, T'Pol had started havin' trouble in her science department. People wanted to be transferred to other departments, mainly Engineerin'. So she came to me one day, asking for advice. We started to have regular meals together about then."
"You have no idea how hyped up the rumor mill was when that happened," Malcolm snorted. "Half the female contingent was hell bent on getting closer to you, but you started to have meals with the resident Vulcan, of all people. I don't think Anna Hess ever really got over it that she never had a chance to bed you." For a man who'd never been known to gossip, Reed certainly knew some surprising things. But then, as head of security on the ship, it was probably one of his duties to know what went on – he was a bit like that wise old owl in the oak tree, who heard much because he said little.
"It wasn't for lack of tryin'," Trip said, feeling compassion for the frustration of his extroverted second in command. "I mean don't get me wrong, she's a gorgeous girl an' all, and she 'accidentally' walked in on me in the shower often enough. But I knew I wasn't just one of her flings for her, she had more substantial hopes. I have to work with her every day. It would've been too awkward to let her built up any hopes that I would have to disappoint."
"You're a better man than your reputation suggests," Malcolm needled him.
"Ha ha," Trip shot back in mock indignation. "Anyway, to get back to Hoshi and T'Pol ... After Hoshi was injured by that explodin' mine, I asked T'Pol how Hoshi was and she didn't know, because she saw no logical reason to ask. For her it was logical that Phlox would say something if there were problems in 'Ensign Sato's healing process'. I explained how much it meant for crewmen if their boss dropped by now and then while they were laid up in sickbay."
"And she took your advice?"
"Obviously. Ever since then she's gone to Hoshi whenever she's confused about some human behavior or language. And with me teasin' the hell out of her, you can imagine that she's had plenty reasons to ask Hoshi about it."
"I can imagine. So the two of them are actually friends?"
"In human terms, they're the best of friends – y'know, the type of girls who chat endlessly about how good their men were in bed last night. If there's anyone on board, who knows even half as much about T'Pol as I do, it's Hoshi."
"I have trouble imagining T'Pol gossiping about your shagging performance," Malcolm chuckled, but then paused to scowl theatrically. "And I'm damned if I want my own failings to be the subject of open debate – that if there's ever going to be anything to discuss. What the girls talk about between themselves is up to them, but there are some things a senior officer does not need to know about."
Trip grinned. His years in Engineering had rubbed off any shyness he might ever have laid claim to, but he knew that the reticent Brit would be mortified by having his private life made public, even between friends.
"Well, they probably do not discuss that particular topic, but for Vulcans, tellin' their age is considered somewhat intimate and Hoshi knows T'Pol's age. That should tell you something."
"I've never heard T'Pol address her as anything but 'Ensign Sato', though." The news of Hoshi and T'Pol being such close friends had evidently come as a surprise.
"That's because she doesn't – not in public anyway. Hoshi told me she does so in private, but apparently even that took quite some convincin'."
"Have you noticed how much T'Pol's changed lately? Sometimes I think she's almost trying to become human, like cracking that joke in sickbay for instance."
Trip shook his head. "She's not tryin' to become human, but she is trying to blend in more. That's just T'Pol's logic. She's in a relationship with a human on a human ship. The same way, she'll expect me to stop grinnin' at everything and to hold back on laughin' when we're among Vulcans. We're trying to find some compromise that doesn't require her to become too human or me to become too Vulcan. I'm quite surprised at how many concessions she's willing to make though."
"Seems to work though. You two look good together," Malcolm said as he chucked the empty bottles into the recycler.
"Works great so far. Gotta go, Mal." He stood up to leave. "The Cap'n wanted to see me."
"Trip," Malcolm called after his retreating friend. He hadn't moved, and his expression was still more wistful than optimistic, but the usually cool gray eyes had warmth in them. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Trip nodded, turning back just short of the door. "Knowin' about your little secret stash now, I'll probably blackmail you into sharin' some now an' again." It was less of a threat than a subtle request, and he knew by the chuckle from the recipient that it had been understood as such.
"Go bother the captain, you greedy git."
He reflected as the door hissed shut behind him that it wasn't just T'Pol who'd changed. Whether he knew it or not, Malcolm Reed's formidable defenses were slowly coming down as well.
Something was definitely wrong. After her mate had not returned three hours after his meeting with Lieutenant Reed, she had visited the quarters of the Armory officer, fearing that the men might have inebriated themselves. Contrary to the lieutenant's belief, she was quite aware of his secret cache of alcoholic beverages; she did regular ship-wide scans for various allergens known to threaten some of the crew members, and Crewman Carson from science was allergic to hops.
But the lieutenant had insisted that Trip had left over an hour ago to meet the captain, and since he did not appear drunk, despite traces of the smell of alcohol on his breath, she had believed his explanation and had instead initiated a ship-wide scan from the science office, finally locating the chief engineer at his usual working place.
But when she arrived at his office, she found it locked, and after making sure that nobody could see her she entered her override code and went into the office. She stopped in shock when she found him, his head resting on his folded arms on the desk. He was crying.
Quickly she locked the door again, lest anyone see him in this condition. She touched his shoulders gently but to her shocked surprise, her gentle touch only served to increase the severity of his sobs. He spun around, flinging his arms around her waist, and rested his head on her abdomen, still inconsolable in whatever grief or emotional confusion had gripped him. He had been fairly emotional for the last few days, despite the short respite on the island.
Seeing a PADD on the table, she carefully picked it up. It contained several communications between him and his family and since he saw what she was doing and made no move to stop her, she started to read them. Soon she began to understand the reason for her mate's distress.
The first missive was one he had received shortly after their return from the Expanse, a letter from his father, and she had to summon all her remaining control over her emotions to avoid an openly emotional reaction to what she read. His paternal parent, obviously in the grip of grief for his deceased daughter, expressed his displeasure with alien presence on Earth in grammatically rather poor style. Shortly after this the communication descended into a rather unspeakable denunciation of Trip's obvious attraction to her, and she herself was described in singularly unpleasant terms. A primal rage threatened to overwhelm her at the thought of the emotional pain his parent's words would inevitably have caused her mate.
The lengthy period between this communication and the next one made it clear that there had been a substantial period of communication silence between Trip and his family, something she knew would hurt him just as much as his father's unseemly statements. This one, however, seemed to be of a more conciliatory nature.
Dear son,Now, five months after I sent it, your mother sat me down and made me re-read the diatribe I sent you when you came back from that Xindi mission. Words cannot describe how ashamed I am of myself.
I was blind drunk at the time, but that's no excuse. Your mother refuses to say anything, but ever since Lizzie died I've never seen her this happy, so I can only guess that the good news has come from you, considering that Danny is still stuck in denial. I sincerely hope that you and T'Pol have finally made things work between you. Your mother had hoped to invite you both to our new home when you came back. She even had found out about T'Pol's mother's address to invite her as well. I guess I don't need to explain what happened when she found out I had driven you to go to Vulcan instead, knowing how you hate the desert.
It's hard to find a way to say sorry for something that cannot be forgiven. I've said things about the woman you love that mark me down as a raging xenophobe and the worst father you could think of. It would be easy to blame the alcohol, but the truth is, those prejudices must have been there beforehand. The alcohol just made it easier to express them.
We've spent a lot of time getting help from Father Martin and I think I am better now. Maybe I shouldn't have been too stubborn to accept his help earlier. But however things are now, I can't undo what I have done to the Lady you're obviously in love with. If you can't forgive me, I will only have myself to blame, but I ask one thing of you – please don't make your mother pay for my idiocy. I beg you son, please contact her at least. I will stay out of it if you wish, but Cath should not have to pay for my faults.
Please forgive me, if you can.
Dad.
It took her a while to control her own emotional reaction to the two letters. It was hardly believable that both communications had been written by the same man, but the grammatical accuracy and the vastly improved spelling made it obvious that the second letter was not written under the influence of a debilitating substance.
She could feel that her mate had exhausted his energy. Taking him back to their quarters was a risky option as it presented the danger of someone seeing him in this state of distress, but there was a divan in the far corner of his office, undoubtedly often in use during the early months of the mission. She sniffed the air, deciding that the linen and blanket had been unused for quite a time, but were fresh, so she guided her exhausted ashayam to the piece of furniture and tucked him in. It took mere minutes for him to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Dear Charles Tucker jr,As your son is too emotionally impacted by the contrary nature of your two latest communications, I have decided to take it upon myself to provide an answer to your latest letter, not least because I consider continued loss of contact between my mate and his family an unacceptable situation.
It would be easy for me to claim that Vulcans cannot experience offense or hurt. In fact I often did so in my early interactions with humans, but it would be a lie. We experience those emotions even more acutely than humans do and therefore we need to avoid expressing them, lest they overwhelm and cripple us. Since it is obvious that your first communication was not written with a clear mind, I find it illogical to hold that against you, especially as I have also very recent experience with losing a close family member and therefore vividly remember the irrational thoughts that grief brings to one's mind. In that regard I offer my forgiveness for the words you used to describe me and my presence in the life of your son.
What I find hard to forgive is the pain these words have caused to my beloved, and seeking his forgiveness is something that will not be easily achieved. It is reassuring that you have managed to seek help and overcome your obvious problems, something that I can easily relate to as your son's influence played a large part in my overcoming the untimely death of my mother, even though I did not manage to make that sufficiently clear at the time.
As someone who has made her fair share of erroneous decisions in regard to the development of my relationship with Trip, I can understand that you never had a conscious wish to bring harm to him, which is why I am willing to let the past be the past and 'turn the page' as the human saying puts it, but be aware that my beloved will need more time to come to the same conclusion. Until that time I hope that you and your wife will stay in good health and continue to heal from the tragedy that has befallen your family.
I hope that, with time, the situation will change for the better.
With greetings to you and your wife,
T'Pol of Vulcan
Satisfied with the overall tone of her communication she sent the letter into the subspace queue before looking back at her sleeping mate. The divan was not made to hold two persons, but since they had a habit of resting in close contact, the piece of furniture would do.
After shedding her uniform she carefully joined the sleeping engineer under the blanket and snuggled up to him.
Malcolm Reed slowly navigated the corridors of the ship. Sleep had not come easily after the exciting news that Trip had brought the night before. It was still an hour before the shift began, but he was too nervous to wait in his cabin or to sit in the Mess Hall.
Nadene
- 08.11.2020
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